


i've closed enough windows (to know you can never look back)

by WordsareBetterthanNumbers



Series: Short Stories [1]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drunken Confessions, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Men Crying, References to Depression, banana pancakes, carry on, sometime around 4.18 and 4.19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 11:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15684537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsareBetterthanNumbers/pseuds/WordsareBetterthanNumbers
Summary: Amy was sure she had never seen Jake's hands shake so badly. Neither had she ever seen him cry so shamelessly.





	i've closed enough windows (to know you can never look back)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I don't know how many of you are into Marvel but here is my most recent story (and probably greatest achievement) [we need to get my story straight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15545718)
> 
> I just hope that you guys think that this short story lives up to the other work I wrote, maybe it will be even better. Anyway, this is my first time writing something like this, and I hope you like it. 
> 
> The whole work is inspired by [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q7yCLn-O-Y0) and [this other song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OkyrIRyrRdY) Carry On is one of my favorites, and it helped me a lot when I was going through some stuff, so I used it for inspiration for this hurt/comfort fic, while Banana Pancakes is more for the Domestic Part. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated. 
> 
> -Love, Maria

Amy woke up at the sound of a soft breeze ruffling the curtains. For the first few seconds, she felt groggy and oddly cold until the sound of a car's horn cut through the fog in her mind. Sure, New York was loud, but they lived in a quiet neighborhood away from all of the bustle of the city; a car honking at that hour of the morning was more than unusual. She strained her ears for a few seconds, hoping not to hear some kind of burglar, and then sighed in relief when the house seemed quiet.

 Jake wasn't snoring loudly or talking in his sleep. There wasn't the soft and soothing sound of music that always accompanied her boyfriend when he walked around the house in the middle of the night-- too caught up in a case to get any real form of rest. Most troubling of all, she couldn't hear Jake mumbling or shuffling around. She frowned, scratching the side of her head and rubbing the palms of her hands on her eyes before moving. The bed groaned at her, then groaned again once Amy moved into a sitting position and started shuffling around looking for some slippers. Finally, when she found them and was awake enough to stand up properly, she made her way out of the room. 

The soft breeze picked up again, bringing with it the sweet smell of flowers that usually resided in the small balcony of their apartment. Courtesy of her, of course; but Amy just couldn't figure out _why_  their apartment was smelling of flowers so late at night. She was sure she had closed the window before going to sleep, she couldn't sleep knowing that there was an unguarded entrance to their little haven.

As she walked into the hallway, she started hearing the soft buzz of the cars on the main road. The apartment was usually silent enough for her to hear them as clear as day without that extra open window, and now that she was sure that the balcony door was open the sound was amplified by a thousand. Still, all the logical explanations couldn't calm Amy's nerves down; the white noise made the apartment feel cold and huge-- like something was going to jump at her from the next corner she crossed. 

She walked into the living room and found that it smelled slightly of booze and-- cigarettes? The flowers were making a good cover for the smell, but she could quite certainly still smell the residual tobacco. Amy's nerves were going haywire; now she was sure there was something terribly wrong going on, but she couldn't quite guess _what_  it was. Maybe a robber _had_ broken into their apartment. There was a small sniffle coming from the balcony, she heard someone shuffle, and a shadow moves across the curtains that usually covered up the glass door. Amy could recognize Jake's silhouette anywhere, her heart stopped beating at a thousand miles per hour, and she crossed her arms in front of her. It had just been her stupid cop nerves getting the best of her. 

She walked over to him, a worried frown on her face. Her expression only got more concerned when she saw in which state he was in-- Amy was sure she had never seen Jake's hands shake so badly. Neither had she ever seen him cry so shamelessly. 

When he looked down he could barely focus on her; his eyes were red, whether from crying or the alcohol she didn't know, his hair was messy, he was holding a bottle of wine in his hand and his stank of cigarettes. Jake often spoke about how the last time he had smoked a cigarette he had nearly choked, but Amy knew that was not true. In fact, he had once confided in her that smoking was his little secret, his ugly, dirty, habit that he had acquired when he had started having nights in which it was hard to keep himself from crying to sleep. Amy knew that for his ugly, dirty, habit to be making a comeback, he must be feeling worse than terrible. 

She reached for him, letting her hand hover over his face, asking for permission. Jake leaned his head into her hand, and she awkwardly tried to wipe the tear off his cheek. His skin was a little scruffy from his unshaven stubble, but she could feel the way it was puffed up and clammy from all of the crying. When he spoke his lips tickled the palm of her hand softly, " 'm sorry."

His voice was thick and his words slurred by the alcohol, his breath was hot against her hand, but what made Amy shiver with worry was the lack of explanation. Jake's mouth stayed a little open, and his eyes were trying to focus on her as best as possible, but no words came after the _I am sorry._ That had her more worried than any of the other signs of sadness her boyfriend was showing. Quiet was most unusual with Jake. 

"Jake?" Her voice sounded soft like she was scared that any more volume was going to ruin whatever bravado Jake might be building up. More tears rolled down his eyes, and his body shook so violently that for a few seconds Amy thought maybe it was the wind that was making him cold. Then Jake let out a sob. More followed after that one and Amy had to watch as Jake dissolved in front of her eyes. She pressed her forehead to his, trying to comfort him through small touches, letting him come to her instead of the other way around. 

"I made a mistake," he whispered, "I made a mistake." 

He placed his head on Amy's shoulder, and for a long time he didn't stop crying and mumbling about how he had made a mistake. Amy tried to understand what he was talking about but her mind kept coming back blank. No one had died while they were doing their jobs, no one had gotten hurt. He had been able to solve every case that week, even bragged about it the day before-- Amy had no clue what Jake was so upset about. 

They stayed like that for a long time, Amy rubbing slow, soothing circles on Jake's back and Jake's free hand snaked around her waist. She waited, hoping that Jake would just tell her what was wrong in his own time, or alternitavely Jake getting tired and begging her to go to bed. Then they could talk about everything in the morning. Somehow that didn't sound like the best option. He calmed down enough for silence to take over the room, occasionally interrupted by the sound of a passing car or a distant honk. Finally, Jake raised his head from her shoulder and took a long swig from the bottle. 

Jake swore, running a hand through his face and repeating the phrase he had been saying over and over for the past hour, "I made a mistake." 

Amy frowned, "What's wrong, Jake?" 

"The kid," Jake said, pausing for a second, "The kid. I locked away his dad this morning. He is never going to see him again." 

Amy stayed silent, waiting to see if he was done talking. Jake brought the bottle to his lips again and drank a little more. 

"What if he wakes up one day and decides that it was his fault his father is not there?" He is looking at her with wide unfocused eyes, and she feels her heart break a little, "What if he decides that he didn't do enough? Or that maybe his father did what he did because of him? You should've seen his face when he looked at his dad, Ames. It was like he was his whole world." 

"You didn't make a mistake Jake." She tried after a second of silence, "You did your job, you did what was right. It is that man's decisions that got him to jail; the kid will understand that one day." 

"One day. He will understand it one day. But what will happen to him until that day gets here?" There was a second of heavy silence in which Jake looked down at the bottle on his hand then looked back up at Amy, "I don't want him to turn into me." 

She didn't know how to answer that. Amy didn't know how to tell Jake that he was the most wonderful person she had ever met, that he was one of the best and brightest men in the whole world, that regardless of all of his flaws she would choose him over everyone else infinite times because _he was the best thing that had happened to her_. She didn't know how to tell him because everything that she said fell short of how wonderful Jake was as a person. 

"Jake-"

He put a finger to her lips, "Don't say anything stupid, babe. I am not perfect. Not even close, I am just me, a horrible mess." 

She took his arm with both hands, hugging it to her chest, "You are not a horrible mess, Jake. And yes maybe you are not perfect, but no one is. You are strong, you are kind, you are incredibly smart, and that might not be perfect for many people, but that is perfect for me." 

This time when Jake tried to speak it was her turn to put her finger on his lips. 

"This kid still has his mother, this kid still has people who care for him unconditionally, and it might take time, but one day he will realize that none of this is his fault. He will realize that his father is just a dirty man who ruined his own life by making mistakes and that he doesn't have to blame himself. It might hurt, but eventually, he will be alright, just like you were." 

"I don't want him to hurt," his lips tickled the skin on her finger as they moved. 

"I don't want him to hurt either," Amy said, "but there is nothing we can do except waiting for him to grow up and learn the truth." 

It took a while to pry the wine bottle away from Jake's hands, but at last Amy managed to convince him to leave the room in exchange for aspirin and a fluffy and comfortable bed. She guided him through their apartment, his weight completely on her shoulders and the silence thick with an emotion that she couldn't place her finger on. She got him to bed, letting him sleep with his booze and tobacco scented pajamas just for one night. 

Once they were both under the covers, and she could barely register the sound of cars Amy decided to ask him one last question, "What is their name?" 

Jake frowned, "Who's name?" 

"The kid." 

 "Oh," there was a few seconds of silence, and then Jake sighed, "Jacob. His name is Jacob." 

  

* * *

 

Amy woke up first, Jake's arm was pinning her down by the waist, and her legs were tangled in between his. She wiggled her way out of the bed carefully, making sure not to wake up Jake, then walked towards their kitchen. She picked up after Jake, making sure everything looked just like before, getting rid of empty bottles of wine and cigarette butts. She opened the windows of the house, letting the smell of tobacco leave the apartment. It was raining outside, the splatter of water against the pavement and soft music coming from her phone accompanied Amy as she made breakfast.  

By the time Jake stumbled into the kitchen she had already drunk her second cup of coffee and was halfway through making the first batch of pancakes. He looked at her with half opened eyes while leaning into the counter. She smiled and reached for a cup to fill with coffee; he didn't speak meanwhile, his first words spoken once she was close enough to hear his whisper, "Thank you for the Aspirin." 

She handed him the cup of coffee and kissed his cheek, "Anytime." 

She had been going to cooking classes for the past month, and while her ability to cook any type of lunch or dinner remained the same, her pancake skill had upped from terrible, to edible, to amazing. It was a work in progress; still, she was aiming for perfect, but she knew that practice made perfect. She turned off the stove and put half the pancakes she had made into a plate then turned towards Jake who was still looking at her. 

"Your breakfast is ready," she walked towards the counter and placed the plate there, then turned to grab a fork and maple syrup, "I hope you like them, I even added chocolate chips to them." 

 "Amy-" 

 "Right, sorry, you are hungover. I probably shouldn't have made you chocolate chip pancakes." 

"Ames-"  

"I should have thought about that, or maybe I should have asked you what you wanted for breakfast." 

Jake reached towards her, warm hand wrapping around her elbow and turning her to face him. His cup of coffee was forgotten on the counter. He didn't look angry or disgusted at the prospect of pancakes. He just looked sad, sad and ashamed, "Ames, I am sorry about last night." 

Thunder struck somewhere in the distance. Amy noticed how his eyes were still rimmed red and his voice lacked the usual playfulness she adores, "I am sorry I woke you up, I am sorry I smoked all of your panic cigarettes, I am sorry I drank our last bottle of wine, and I am sorry you had to deal with that." 

She grabbed Jake's face between her hands, and he leaned into the touch, "I don't mind, Jake. You never have to apologize for anything like that, okay baby? I am glad I woke up, and I could do something." 

He turned his head, kissing the palm of her hand, "I don't know if that will be the last time something like that happens." 

"I know," she said, "I don't mind." 

His arms snaked around her waist, and she leaned into him, placing her head against his chest. Amy closed her eyes and let Jake's warmth seep into her. The rain outside kept thundering, bringing in the scent of wet cement and a soft breeze. They stayed like that for a long time, holding on to each other; by the time that they were apart Jake went to the other side of the counter and started murmuring, telling Amy about a thousand different things. 

Amy listened carefully, nodding and adding her own commentary every once in a while. She didn't comment about how he was still talking softer than on average days, she didn't point out how the conversation steered clear of any mentions of work or family, but somehow, by the end of it Jake finally spilled everything inside his chest to her. And if Amy's phone had gone off over a thousand times in the course of the conversation, she didn't care. She just made sure her boyfriend had a shoulder to cry on and someone to listen to him. 

Any other less important things could definitely wait. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated


End file.
